‘Feel like Nelly when he had the Band-Aid on’

February 4th, 2018, 9:29 PM by Goddess

“Crown Royal and Coke. What I am drinkin’
Newports don’t work, look at ’em throwin’ words

I know I need to quit again
But soon as I try to go a day or two,
I’m caught up in some shit again.”

Lil Wyte & Jelly Roll — “And the Band Plays On”

New boys don’t work.

No shit.

Fuckin Eric Trump with the Booger Fetish called me at 4:05 Friday to ask where an issue was.

My reply was a metaphorical, “Eat shit, Sparky.” I said I have seven issues — with 700 steps each. You can wait in line, booger boy.

Furthermore, he missed most of the editing mistakes in the one issue he deigned himself good enough to glance at. Unless he agrees that credit card providers engage in “transitions” rather than transactions. In which case, let’s order gay wedding cakes for them all!

Thursday, I skipped lunch (well, that’s not an unusual occurrence) because I was told to send an “urgent” issue. I edited the 14-page thing, formatted it in WordPress, reformatted it for Dreamweaver … and waited.

Came in the next day to a brand-new version. “Disregard the old,” I was told. So the six (at the time) projects with the 750 steps became six plus a redo.

Well, six plus TWO redos. After I re-edited and reformatted the big-ass document for web and HTML, I was sent a THIRD version.

So Booger man —

You know, the motherfucker who watches TV (LOUD) all day and hires a freelancer to write his shit … and who bullies a marketer into doing his editorial work … and who has me to edit and publish all the shit that he doesn’t feel he has to inherit until he is good and goddamned ready —

You can borrow my beach-ball-sized lady nuts if you ever want to know what it feels like to have a set.

My boss overheard him making the call and immediately Skyped me to offer to beat the shit out of him. I said I want the first, last and EVERY OTHER PUNCH I could get in.

It’s OK. I’m about to force him to take it all on. Although something tells me that poor marketer whom he has designated as his editorial slave will suffer the most.

Good thing I’ve been training her well. That’s all I gotta say about that … today, anyway …

“I’m fed up, I’m on the road
I’m doing shows, I ain’t going home
On I-40, in the fast lane
Tryna get away from all the wrong

It’s catching up, I’m driving faster
It ain’t getting the best of me
Only reason I made it this far is I have the recipe

I know what I’m doin, 10 years and I’m only venting a little bit

If shit really get bad you’ll know cause I’ll fuck around and kill a bitch.”



‘There is more time than life’

January 23rd, 2018, 5:46 AM by Goddess

In the “Mexico” region of Epcot, there is a wonderful display about the Day of the Dead.

I saw this painted on a wall, and my breath caught in my throat …

It was one of those rare moments in life when you say, yes — that is the truth. There is more time than life.

I think of that as I have to coax myself into going to work. I say my gratitudes and one of them certainly is relief that they believe in me and that they pay me.

But the thing is, even though I am not exactly in possession of extra money, I have a profundity of my own. I am pretty sure they need me more than I need them right now.

It’s a powerful feeling. And one they can slap outta me right-quick with a pink slip.

This six-years-too-late empowerment helps me to be bold, for a change. To put my foot down at staying past a certain hour. To yell at the Booger Wooger Bugle Boy they named editorial director when he yells at ME for writing back to customers who have questions when I am the goddamned retention director and — oh hey — I have been corresponding with customers for 20 years buddy FUCK YOU FOR GETTING HANDED THE TITLE I EARNED MOTHERFUCKER.

*ahem*

Ain’t nobody got time for all this.

I spent my 30s-now-40s taking care of mom and not my social life.

I spent my 20s-then-30s-now-40s taking care of everyone else — and truth be told, I didn’t take THAT great a care of mom because I worked too hard for the almighty paycheck.

And I am under no illusion that my 40s-turned-god-willing-into-something-more isn’t going to be spent chasing more money and my tail when it comes to happiness and balance and whatnot.

You know, I was kind of excited about this new venture we’re doing. We cut out most of the overhead (dead salary weight, make no mistake) and kept the underpaid people who are the hardest workers.

For the most part, anyway — there’s still Booger-Eater and a few others who can eat more than what their snoot produces, as far as the rest of us are concerned.

And as I return to juggling 17 jobs because no one else is there to do them … and Boogie-Woogie refuses to take on the jobs I’m supposed to part with … I think, wow.

I mean, I gave up my life for LVP. AND FOR WHAT? Promises of riches and company ownership and other perks that, after five years, never came? That fucker never worked past 4 p.m. And the time leading up to 4 p.m. was filled with braggadocios stories about his arrests and $100 steaks he’s eaten and thousand-dollar wines and trips on his BFF’s yacht. Never a productive minute of supervision or coaching or a supportive word for any of us. And no bonuses/ownership/CREDIT as far as the eye could see.

*ahem*

I have not lived, is the point of all this. Sure, I’ve had fun. Tried to give us a good little life. But the only thing crueler than anyone I’ve ever worked for is time itself.

There’s always more than enough work to go around. And for all our complaining that “there isn’t enough time,” well, there really is. The collective we just fuck up royally when it comes to using it.

I can’t get time back. And maybe I can’t get my life back, per se, when I never really HAD one.

But, well. You know. I’m thinking it’s high time to add some life to all that time.

And this all *waves hands* ain’t the way to do it.



In which one year has felt like seven

January 21st, 2018, 9:33 PM by Goddess

I should instead be posting one of my many photos of the Impeachment March to Mar-a-Lago. Because, tRump is still a piece of shit and the country is worse off than even I thought, one year ago today when I last marched.

But, alas, I have more hope now than I did then. For various reasons. And I sort of need this reminder that yeah, maybe all the cool kids go to the women’s marches. But there’s good stuff out in the rest of the world, too.

I just have to find it.

I should have worked this weekend. But last week would have looked better not only on fire, but that turd should also have been ablaze in tRumpy’s gold-plated bidet and tweeted all around the world.

THAT would have more accurately resembled the alternating frozen-and-flaming hellscape that refers to more than just our psychotic weather.

We got a bonus, of sorts. I never in my life looked at a gift before and thought, wow, my morale was higher BEFORE I got it. But it was still better than hearing LVP’s name (a whole week without it!), so thanks for that.

A colleague wrote to say the place will fall apart if they don’t keep me forever. I guess I forgot to deliver the news that I CAN stay as long as I want.

That’s the rub. They gave away my title — that I worked HARD to get — and gave it to a stinky nose-picker. One whose grand talent is barking seven paragraphs of orders at random roundups of people he decides to nominate via email.

And much as I try to transition work to this guy, he only ends up making it harder for me to finish the job.

And we’re launching new projects that fall into my-now-his domain. Everyone is just assigning them to me, knowing they will get done and get done RIGHT.

I mean, I love having me some work that I, in fact, LOVE working on. But I don’t know how to get this guy motivated and frankly I am READY for a new challenge.

I am not going to let this Eric Trump looking character keep me from my destiny. Whatever that destiny looks like.

And I am BEYOND ready to find out.



At least I didn’t have to die

January 11th, 2018, 8:49 PM by Goddess

“Gritting your teeth, you hold onto me
It’s never enough, I’m never complete
Tell me to prove, expect me to lose
I push it away, I’m trying to move
Hoping for more, and wishing for less
When I didn’t care was when I did best
I’m desperate to run, I’m desperate to leave
If I lose it all, at least I’ll be free.”

— Broods, “Free”

When my bosses came to me with really, the worst idea ever, I said, “Over my dead body will I (insert what I was asked to do).”

For the girl who did everything asked of her, and then some, for the past six years (40 years, but who’s counting?), they were stunned.

I didn’t elaborate. But come on over to my desk (and everybody does because I’m hilarious), and I will HAPPILY fill you in.

We all had a good old time today when I did what I needed to do for a long time. Not what was asked of me. But what I should have done to prevent that even being an option in the first place.

I told the bosses about it. Like I’d said, over my dead body. Now that is no longer an option because there are literally no choices in the matter left. The one said, “OK” and we talked about that nitwit Trump’s nitwit “shithole” comment instead.

I mean, really, it’s their problem. It always was. I’m sorry I can’t help. And I’m grateful that I don’t have to explain why #timesup on this particular “thing.”

“I have lived my life so perfectly
Kept to all my lines so carefully
I’d lose everything so I can sing
Hallelujah, I’m free
I’m free, I’m free
I’m free, I’m free, I’m free
Hallelujah, I’m free.”

I asked my friend if I could be fired for this. She said who knows. But wouldn’t it be worth it to never, ever have to even think about it ever again?

It’s a good day to be me.



Blackballed

December 17th, 2017, 11:42 AM by Goddess

Despite knowing your industry, knowing everyone in it AND being remarkably capable at your corner of it, folks will still listen to unimpressive cads who suggest you’re not the right fit for new opportunities to do, be and know more in it.

Look. I’m not going to bang on doors that aren’t meant to open. But a lousy reference says more about the person giving it — and the person who heeds it — than the person who doesn’t get a chance to defend him or herself.